Ashes to Ashes
by garbageliteracy
Summary: It's all fun and games until you get hit by a truck, flattened like a pancake, and then spat back out into a world where Jeff Davis is god. If you're thinking "it can't get worse," well it can. My name is Carmella Hale, and this is my story.
1. Introduction

Title: Ashes to Ashes

Summary: It's all fun and games until you get hit by a truck, flattened like a pancake, and then spat back out into a world where Jeff Davis is god. If you're thinking "it can't get worse," well it can. My name is Carmella Hale, and this is my story.

Disclaimer: I only own what I create.

SUPER THANKS TO AVA, MY BETA, SHE'S THE BEST

 **Introduction**

Cora and Carmella Hale were born on a cool December night, and when pushed into the open air, only one of the infants cried. One shook with horrible sobs, her screams bouncing off the walls and echoing into the forest around the back of the house.

"Hush, baby," Talia Hale cooed to Cora, the youngest twin, gently wiping her baby's tears.

Meanwhile, her brother, Peter, held the elder of the two with a bewildered expression on his face as he stared down at the little ball of flesh, sharing her mother's Native American skin. Her eyes were large and blue, unlike Cora's brown ones, though from what he could see of the infant's hair, she shared her color with her mom. The _real_ difference was in the startling awareness behind Carmella's ocean-blue eyes.

Carmella was silent. She just breathed so softly that if it weren't for Peter's enhanced sense of hearing, he would've thought she was dead. The little girl seemed to be _spaced out,_ and so he raised one large hand-bigger than the newborn's body - and poked her nose with his claw playfully.

Her eyes snapped up, something he didn't think possible for a baby, and she stared at him, almost accusatory. _How dare you touch me with your strange claw!_ It was as if she speaking alone with only her expression.

Peter could tell when someone understood. As far as he knew, babies were meant to be completely oblivious. Not his niece, it would seem. Carmella looked to be a little prodigy and with a hard swallow, he realized he was glad her power-hungry father wasn't around to use her.

"What's wrong?" Talia asked, worried by his facial expression. Peter had thought she'd been too busy with Cora to notice his staring, but when he glanced at the baby, he found Carmella's sister to be lying peacefully in her mother's arms.

Peter shook his head and shrugged "Nothing, I guess… Just...waiting to see when she's gonna start crying. I've never seen a baby so...silent. She's kind of weird."

Even as he said this, it was out of fondness. It seemed he'd already fallen for the strange little baby girl in his arms. Before he could stop himself, Peter began to wonder what it would be like to have a kid of his own. Talia's other children had never summoned these thoughts-even Carmella's twin sister two feet away did not invoke the same feeling in him. There was something about the blue-eyed baby that intrigued him. Made him feel almost...uncomfortable. Peter hoped that if he ever reproduced, his own spawn would be just as impressive as his niece.

 _As if that would ever happen._

Talia dismissed it, her eyelids fluttering, as she weakly passed Cora to him, getting ready to sleep now that she'd done her job and could rest.

"I'm sure she will soon. After all, all babies cry." She groaned as she settled herself to sleep, stretching, her eyes reflecting the red of her inner wolf as her barriers came down. Then, her eyes shut, and she was out like a light.

* * *

Carmella Hale didn't though. Three years passed, she'd begun speaking little words, teething, and she was still just as strange as the day she was born. Peter and Talia watched with focused eyes as she grew up, observing how quickly she picked up on hobbling around on her stubby legs, the way she would guide Cora sometimes, as if she herself already knew what to do in life.

It got to the point where the family had multiple sit downs to discuss what may or may not be going on with the girl.

Until one day, a glass shattering, heart stopping, sob that truly sounded the embodiment of _sorrow_ echoed throughout the whole house. Peter had even phased, prowling his home, ready to take out whatever could possibly threatening Carmella, as that's the only way she would ever make a noise like that.

He'd been put on babysitting duty, which he always accepted graciously whenever it was Carmella he was watching. Laura, the oldest, often called him out on his favoritism. He didn't deny it.

So imagine his surprise, when he finds her on the floor of her rooms, under her bed, curled up into a ball so small he almost mistook her for a miscellaneous bundled up jacket. Her body racks with sobs, and he can hear this miserable squeak coming from her chest.

The very uncomfortable, very werewolf-ed out, male picked up the bed frame with one hand, lifting up and peering down at Carmella.

"What's wrong, Angel?" he cooed down at her, his brow furrowed as the swollen sky blue eyes of his niece turned on him, looking just as accusatory as the day she was born.

* * *

A million things are running through her mind. She was _suddenly_ remembering it all. The three year old had been playing with her blocks, and the next thing she knows, her head was being derailed by memories that wrap around her vision and block out reality entirely.

Carmella can only watch as a girl she recognizes as herself, blonde, brown eyes, sitting on a couch with a tub of ice cream in her lap, a spoon in her mouth, and her first love cuddled into her arm. She's watching a show on the tv.

The three year old knows this woman, this nineteen year old girl, is herself. She can recall every little detail. Her favorite color, the first time she ever had a crush, her first musical, when her dog got cancer, when she joined the soccer team, every Christmas, every Thanksgiving.

Carmella screamed. She screamed as loud as she could and she shimmied into the darkness beneath her bed in search of safety from the overwhelming sights and sounds.

She can hear feet pounding down the hallway and a piece of her reminds herself, It's your Uncle Peter. That's when she realizes the _truth._ That's when she knows.

In her past life, one of the many binge-worthy series on television was Teen Wolf. Carmella had been _obsessed_. She wrote stories for it, her fiance watched it with her almost every night, she even had merchandise for it.

Uncle Peter lifts up the bed, taking away the safety of the pitch black, and with the light shining down on her, Carmella stares into the eyes of her Uncle.

"What's wrong, Angel?"

 _Everyone you love is going to burn._ Memories of Peter Hales catatonic form were all she could see when she stared up at the man who may as well have been a surrogate father, the man who changed her diapers, who cared for her more than her own mother.

Carmella had been awake, with the fully aware mind of a nineteen year old shoved inside of her baby body from the moment she was born. It had just taken a couple years before her brain was capable of remembering.

She starts crying, and she doesn't know if she'll ever stop now that she's started.


	2. Chapter One, The Boy in Pink

Title: Ashes to Ashes

Summary: It's all fun and games until you get hit by a truck, flattened like a pancake, and then spat back out into a world where Jeff Davis is god. If you're thinking "it can't get worse," well it can. My name is Carmella Hale, and this is my story.

Disclaimer: I only own what I create.

SPECIAL THANKS TO AVA, MY BETA, SHE'S THE BEST!

 **Chapter One: The Boy in Pink**

At six years old, I had estimated that as Cora's twin sister, my family would all burn to death when I was eleven. Since there was a six year absence from when she first comes on the show and the fire, and she had said in one episode she was seventeen. The math wasn't too hard but I could've been off a year or two. So with that being said, I had to come to terms with the fact that that was one event I couldn't change.

At eleven years old, I would be trapped in a burning building, unless by some LUCKY coincidence I happen to be out of the house whenever it happened. It wasn't as if Jeff Davis had given us an inner monologue for Derek's "It happened on a Friday" kind of bullshit, so I didn't know when exactly the fire would occur, just the year.

In other words, I was the crankiest six year old you would ever meet. A brat straight from hell.

My Uncle Peter took it in stride, thankfully, and my older sister Laura didn't seem too concerned with my behavior. Meanwhile, I only saw my mother, Talia Hale, for an hour at dinner every night. She was the Alpha so she had a lot of important work to do.

The nineteen year old in me hated her for it, but six year old Carmella didn't.

The two parts of me watched the various supernatural creatures leaving the basement every day. We watched everything, and we listened. I took in every ounce of information I could like human bestiary. Even if I was forbidden to interact with the guests, I picked up any tidbits of information I could.

Speaking of, being a kid again was absolutely the worst. Let's just say being potty trained by an alpha she-wolf is terrifying. The damned event was when I was four, and I was pretty small for my age, even Cora growing physically faster than I despite my mental age.

With such a small body, perched so precariously on that toilet seat, it felt as if I was gonna fall off, crack my skull, wet myself, and then promptly die of shame right there. Of course, I'm sure this was just my own stressed demented adult brain being affected by the anxiety that accompanied the body of a four year old.

Sometimes I dearly missed that time before, that time before I remembered who I'd been, and what was to come. When I was just little Carmella Hale, a simple child born to a loving werewolf family.

"I do not want to do ballet, Uncle Peter!" I protested, begging my favorite family member to turn the car around and take me back home..

The only reason this was happening was because Laura had such a great experience doing ballet when she was my age, and apparently that meant I had to do it as well. If you asked me, it was some straight bullshit and as a six year old, I had little say in such matters. Despite it being my own life, I thought bitterly, turning to watch the stores go by.

I was just glad they weren't trying to marry me off like they had so many times with Derek. Luckily for him, half the werewolf children brought for 'innocent playdates' (I smell baloney, Mom) ended up going home covered in mud or tears, or sometimes both.

My big brother liked to roughhouse, and if you were going to spend time with him, you were going to get dirty. Usually, little boys and girls didn't exactly dig that.

Uncle Peter took a deep breath, like he always did right before we were going to have one of our heart to hearts. They'd started as soon as I'd turned five, when I'd managed to overcome the stubborn inflexibility of the baby tongue in my mouth.

I missed my boobs. I missed cigarettes. I missed being grown and not having to take stupid, piece of shit, ballet classes.

"And why not? I think you just don't want to because Laura did."

I was ready with my response almost immediately. In my new life, I became a lot wittier and snarkier. It was strange-I'd been passive and docile before.

Without turning my head from the window in the slightest, I began to explain.

"This ponytail hurts, and in three hours, I'm gonna have a headache. And what if I get a receding forehead when I grow up because of all the ballet hair traditions? Have you seen Laura's forehead? Not to mention all the other kids are going to be stupid." I spat the last word out, finally turning around to see if he could offer up some sort of consolation.

Whenever there was something I wanted, not needed, Peter was the one who got it for me. He was the one who was always there and as one of the few characters who would live through the fire, albeit mentally and physically scarred, I latched onto the stability of his character. He loved me. He would live. He was my family.

Uncle Peter, Derek, and Cora were the only ones I let myself really care about. I knew there was a storm brewing, and I needed to prepare. I couldn't look at a single member of my family without thinking of what was to come.

* * *

Peter Hale, driving the Official Hale Mom-Van, was escorting his tutu clad, royally-pissed-off, six-year-old, niece to her first ballet class. Talia had been firm in commanding that she do it like her sister had, declaring it was important try new childish things at her age. With how serious little Carmella had grown since that day she'd freaked out, he knew his sister wasn't wrong.

Even so, he liked her the way she was. Peter would accept his favorite niece no matter what.

"This pony tail hurts my head, and in three hours, I'm gonna have a headache. And what if I get a receding forehead when I grow up because of all the ballet hair traditions? Have you seen Laura's forehead? Not to mention all the other kids are going to be stupid!"

It was exceedingly hard trying to keep his eyes on the road, when the girl in his passenger seat was such a sight in her fury. She sat with balled up fists, a crinkle in her brow, and clenched teeth. Talia had to force her, claws and all, to get that god-forsaken neon pink ensemble on, and Peter had watched from the couch as Carmella's sisters helped scrape her hair back with a brush.

It had resembled a torture scene, in his opinion.

Peter looked over at the girl as the pulled over in front of the hole in the wall, bright pink, all glass studio hidden in one of Beacon Hills' rundown neighborhoods. His niece stared at him with her soulful eyes that looked at him as if waiting for something to happen, and he mirrored her look, a cocked head, eyes equally as unmoving and voidless.

Carmella grunted, her eyebrows dipping even further and mustering up a glare she could only have inherited from her father. She grasped the handle of the mini-van and tugged with a strength that spoke greatly of her potential as a she-wolf.

Born werewolves didn't really turn until they hit puberty, and yet, here was Talia's little girl, ripping open car doors and taking names. He almost wanted to shed a tear, a proud grin stretching over the wolf's features.

She glanced at him just barely, over her shoulder, as if he wasn't worth her time.

"Don't wait up." Oh yeah, she was butthurt.

Watching her strut away with clear intentions to terrify her new class into submissiveness to survive the outing, Peter couldn't help but think that he was lucky to experience such a force of nature.

There hadn't been any puzzle pieces missing in his life, and yet this little blue eyed baby that knew too much had walked up, and managed shoved her own piece in without him noticing.

Peter Hale is not a fictional character, bound to go power-crazy and take lives, in this moment. He is just an uncle behind the wheel, watching with eyes full of wonder, as his niece grows and so does his heart.

* * *

When I arrived inside of the ballet studio, I was met with a sea of pink, and iwas hit with the urge to turn right back around and just run away. Oh, Derek would hear about this. Uncle Peter would hear about this. I was going to write a damn letter. I would protest!

Every little girl was, with blonde hair, and they all looked exactly the same, perched in front of their PTA moms, all juice boxes and arrogance. They stood like they thought they were fuckin' J-Lo or something.

I was six and already bitches were getting on my nerves. Great. One could only imagine the havoc I would wreak when the family 'genes' kicked in.

"Mom, this is stupid."

"Mom, I wanna go hooooome."

"Mom, I'm the only boy here! And you can't even tell."

The high pitched, squeaky voice that met my ears drew me to a child and his parent over by the front desk. A little boy, shoved into his very own, pink onesie, with the tears in his eyes, his freckled cheeks tomato red.

His mother was the prettiest woman in the room by far, the only one who had color to her skin, and darker curls. She stood tall and with a sad voice, she told him it would be alright, and then left. Just like Uncle Peter.

Only, I wasn't hurt. I didn't need help in these kinds of social situations, as I'd embarrassed myself far worse in my previous life. Multiple times. But it looked like that boy did. An unfamiliar sense of urgency to help filled me. I could only guess it was one of the many traits this identity had been born with. I suspected Fate played a major role.

I approached the boy with an emotionless look on my face. He stared at me, eyes wide, seemingly terrified that I was going to make fun of him.

"Why does your momma want you in ballet if it upsets you?" I asked curiously, trying to make my blunt question and lack of charisma acceptable by reaching into my baggie Peter had strapped onto me and handing him a capri-sun of my own.

He blinked away his tears a few times, and with a shaking, nervous hand, took the juice.

"I dunno," he whined, low and miserable. "I ask but I don't ever get explan-explan-...explanations. Because I'm little." I get that feeling, man, I sure do..

"Well...I'll be your friend if it makes you feel better." I shrugged indifferent, holding out a hand and enjoying the way his eyes sparkled with hope like I'd made a difference that day. "My names Carmella Hale."

Pale, sad, and freckled spoke up, finally using a confident and firm tone.

"Stiles, Stiles Stilinski!"


	3. Chapter Two, First Fight

Title: Ashes to Ashes

Summary: It's all fun and games until you get hit by a truck, flattened like a pancake, and then spat back out into a world where Jeff Davis is god. If you're thinking "it can't get worse," well it can. My name is Carmella Hale, and this is my story.

Disclaimer: I only own what I create.

SPECIAL THANKS TO AVA, MY BETA, SHE'S THE BEST!

 **Chapter Two: First Fight**

The Hale household was something I fell in love with despite all my attempts. I tried, and I tried, and I tried. I was as cold and emotionally detached as I could possibly get away with at nine years old, all I had to do was exist, knowing they would perish, with lips sealed shut, and try not to care.

As werewolf's, the family did things differently in a way that was... _well_...otherworldly. My old family had been very distant and unaffectionate. Here, I shared a twin bed with Cora, simply because she was my twin and that was how things worked. I didn't hate it either. We were the perfect proportion to curl together on the cot, like yin and yang.

At nine years old, Cora was far more outspoken and blunt than myself, but noticeably nicer. I was quiet and shy, with a sweet attitude, hiding my angry and dark perspective which bled into my words every time I spoke. On one particular morning, I quite clumsily freed myself from our quilts that Granny Koko had sewn for us, an asian werewolf who's real name I did not know but hung around often enough for me to call her Granny Koko, and studied my shared bedroom.

While my twin and I were on the one bed, across the spacious room (that had once been the attic) sat Laura's queen sized bed, which she deserved, being sixteen and kind enough to share a room with two kids. Derek was the only one of us who got his own room since he was a _boy,_ other than of course the adults. All of the other rooms were occupied by our many cousins.

Laura had a neon green comforter and matching green pillows with blood splattered red on them. Not real blood, but a design. I cocked my head and rubbed my sleepy eyes, smiling, _weirdo older sister_. What kind of teenage girl likes _that_ color? I wrinkled my nose fondly.

I had just wanted a moment to be _her._ **That girl I had once been** , with the blonde hair, and the love of her life, and the future ahead of her, so I took a moment to jot down a few mental notes on who had once been a fictional character but was now my 'big sissy.'

"Hrrgh" Cora rolled over groaning in a very Derek-like fashion, before stretching out like a feline "Carmella?" one chocolate colored eye flickered open to search for her other half (me, duh.)

I patted her on the head gently, grinning toothily at how cute she was "m'gonna go help with breakfast. It _is_ Thanksgiving, and Laura's not even home to help out."

My memories of the previous night ran through the forefront of my young mind, watching my older, honey haired, red-lipped sister literally leap out of the window like something out of a Twilight film after ranting to me about a party and a human girl. I was supposed to cover for her but I never really made any effort. She was just lucky that Mom hadn't noticed. Though something told me that a house of werewolves knew exactly what that sound in tree's outside was. Not that anyone made any real attempts to stop her.

"If it isn't my little _Caramel Candy Apple_ " Talia Hale cooed, extra affectionate since the holidays excused her from a lot of her more diplomatic Alpha duties, rushing towards me after I'd trotted loudly down the stairs.

Having grown used the to the very touchy Hales, I didn't flinch like I may have once before when she picked me up like I was still small, tossing me into the air. I was almost 5'0 but that didn't seem to matter to the she-wolf I called mother. Did I love her? Yes, I hadn't had a real mother in my past life, but...I liked Peter better. I didn't have to hide my intelligence from him in the least. There had been times where I said things just to see how he'd react, things that no little child should ever say, varying from dirty jokes, to questions about dead bodies.

"Caramel Candy Apple? Really, Sis?" speak of the devil "that's horrid, you're going to scar the chosen one" Peter drawled, sauntering into the kitchen in his Sundays Best. That happened to be a blood red robe, tied loosely around his waist, and a pair of Simpsons boxers.

My Uncle sure was a fuckin' character.

He swooped in and scooped me out of my mother's grip, propping me up on his broad shoulders, an action mom didn't protest, instead using the opportunity to turn to the stove in which she sauteed what smelled like some kind of onion-potato breakfast thing. It made my stomach growl, and not shortly after that Uncle Peter's own tummy followed suit. Mom snorted.

"Uncle Peter calls me Princess" I bragged since that sounded much better than 'Caramel Candy Apple,' the picture of mischief perched upon the big-bad wolf, all teeth and dimples.

Talia Hale snorted, pointing her wooden spoon at us accusative " _that_ right there, Peter. Is what I'm talking about. She's going to be a narcissist if you keep this up."

 _Thump, thump, thump, push, growl._ The sounds that filled the kitchen meant one thing, my Cousin's were up.

Though I had seven all together, three descended the stairs, all of them dark skinned, with shiny chopped black curls, and doe brown eyes. At fifteen, the triplets were already stunning and lithe little heartbreakers. Lisa, Leah, and Lacey had so much potential as werewolf's and it killed me to think of Kate cutting them down in their prime. I had seen them combine into one of those disgusting transformer wolves like the Alpha Pack Twins in the show once when they were fourteen in an utterly prodigal display. Even if it was disgusting, my Cousin's were pretty powerful werewolf's.

I frowned every time I saw them, and kept my distance. _They're all gonna die_ the old me whispered in the back of my mind. My frown deepened.

"C'mon slackers" Leah announced, the tallest of the three, each of them varying just a couple of inches despite being otherwise identical "is everyone up!? I'm winning this thanksgiving!" she grinned, her canines shining underneath the fluorescent light.

Every holiday, my barbaric family gathered in the basement and set aside a hundred bucks and then fought brutishly. Best fighter in the family gets the cash. It entertained my real grandmother, not mom's friend Granny Koko, and showed off the varying skills to all of our parents. Some of our more distant family members even came down from the South for the fun of it.

Personally, I'd usually watch from Uncle Peter's lap on the sidelines with a cup of coca cola in my lap and a bendy straw in between my lips, trying to memorize their moves. I was too young for my mother to let me fight, hell, she hadn't let me watch until I was seven.

A hand abruptly smacked my shin, Uncle Peter pulling me back to reality as he always did.

"It's about time the twin's have their first fights? Don't you agree?" He challenged my mother with a grin I'm sure he meant to come off as harmless but was the exact opposite.

The potato's sizzled and screamed, and Talia, turned off the stove. She cocked her head at her brother with a wrinkled nose that look _exactly_ like my own, her red eyes shining unintentionally. A few seconds of silence passed while my excited cousins watched on, biting their nails, and Uncle Peter's dastardly smile never faltered.

"You know, you're right. I was nine when I had mine."

Simultaneously, the room let out a breath, all of us happy that we hadn't pissed her off. My new mother ran the house with an iron fist, literally sometimes breaking things with her bare hands in her anger. Not that we ever literally saw, she only ever got angry like that in the basement. It was where most of our werewolf activities took place, so it could take a few hits. Talia Hale, sweet, motherly, and of course: BAD-ASS.

 _Tap, tap, tap._ All eyes shot to the stairwell, where my twin sister scuffled down, looking absolutely _adorable_ wrapped in our blankets wearing one of Derek's oversized t-shirt and stretching out into the air. Her half lidded eyes stared at us all, bored.

"Maa" Cora made various noises I learned while growing up with her "do I smell food?"

All the members of my families were _characters._ It was kind of upsetting the more I thought about it. Laura was an independent teenage girl doing wild crazy werewolf things, my mother was an Alpha She-Wolf Pack Mom, my Uncle Peter came down dressed in crimson robes and The Simpsons boxers, and here was my twin, making funny noises and dragging herself out of bed to investigate the smell of breakfast. It just reminded me sometimes that it wasn't _real._

I buried my head in Uncle Peter's shoulder, trying to hide from my own thoughts, inhaling the cinnamon cent of his robe, instead thinking of my fight to come. Who would I even fight? There were so many members of our family that participated, it was a hard toss up. Really, it could have been anyone.

* * *

 _Fate plays a big role_ I noted for what seemed like the hundredth time, staring blankly across the basement at my opponent. Otherwise known as my step-cousin. _Warren Hale._ His mother married into the family when he was a baby and he'd taken the family name. It was a healthy merger for two werewolf families but I didn't like him.

"You can totally take him" Cora amped me up from my side, bouncing with a grin on her face, looking a little too much like Laura for a second.

I sized him up. At eleven years old, just about to hit the age where he turns, Warren's hair was blonde, and grown out. He could even tie it in a bun if he wanted. His eyes were blue and his skin was tan, but his form was lanky and seemingly stretched out. I had no doubt muscles would fill in and he would grow to be a beast.

But now, at 4'9, with a little bit of weight on me, speed, and _amazing_ genetics from super powerful Alpha parents (not that I knew much about my dad) I thought maybe _just_ **maybe** I could take him.

 _Big mistake._

I had expected a punch for his first move. A shove. Maybe he would go on the defense. I did not expect him to walk up to me and _body slam_ the soul out of me. My back hit the stone floor with a crack that made my various family members 'oooh' and my mother growl. Warren faltered not intending to actually hurt me and I clenched my teeth to bite back the pain, wanting to impress my Uncle if anything, and threw all my weight into my legs, wrapping them around his neck and throwing him down with me.

I stood up quick on my feet, my back hunched, form terrible due to my freshly bruised spine, and slammed my knee into his back.

"That's my baby sister! THAT'S MY BABY SISTER!" Derek's voice was a god-awful roar that only served to further agitate my opponent, and Warren rose from the floor with eyes sparkling. He blinked a couple times and I watched the topaz fade in and out. Any day now and he would turn.

Pissed off, and sufficiently damaged, Warren jabbed his fingers into a specific spot in the back of my knee that made me yowl like a cat that had been stepped on. I fell to the floor, right on my back, which made me hiss once again. I was going to be sore for weeks.

With me on the ground, and my face open, my step-cousin took his opportunity and kicked me until it was lights out.


End file.
